Something to Try
by horseislove
Summary: If you care to listen, I'll tell you a story. It's the story of the young witch pushing the sweets trolley — just another one of her careers-that-aren't — and struggling to make ends meet. It's the story of how her delicately-balanced life comes crashing down on her head, with just one letter. And it's the story of how she survives it all.
1. Chapter 1

They all know me. They adore me, even. They look forward to my visits. But not a single one of them knows my name or cares to learn it.

That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it? But really, what can you expect after riding a train with teenagers for nearly seven hours? It's just a fragment of my cacophony of careers-that-aren't.

Sometimes, I work as a barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron.

Other days, I serve ice cream at Florean Fortescue's.

Early mornings, before I have other duties for the day, I help perfect sewing charms and such in Madam Malkin's.

One summer, I inventoried all of Flourish and Blotts. It was the summer after they lost several hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility (for the second time), and they were still a bit flustered from the repeat of that old incident.

Four days a year, I push the sweets trolley on the Hogwarts Express: the beginning of term; immediately before and after Christmas break, for those students who choose to head home; and at the start of summer.

It's a pathetic life for a witch, I'll admit, but it's _my_ life. I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

_It's quite short, and I really should be working on other things, but this idea has been in my head for a while now. What do you think? I'll continue IF AND ONLY IF people want to read it._


	2. Chapter 2

I don't usually consider myself cheesy, but really, "It's _my_ life. I wouldn't have it any other way," can't be considered as anything other than a cheesy statement. Let me justify it to you?

The Leaky Cauldron is where literally _everyone_ comes when they need to visit Diagon Alley. I get to see them _all_ at least once a year, and a good number of my friends stop by quite frequently. To clarify: yes, I do have friends, even with my hectic lifestyle.

I'm addicted to ice cream. If you don't believe me, just look at how much of it I eat during my shifts at Fortescue's. There's no way I could afford to buy that amount, but I get it for free while I'm working.

Madam Malkin's is a bit harder to explain—I like clothes, but I'm not addicted. I can afford to buy all I need. People don't stop there frequently to visit. I'd have to say it has something to do with Averill (Madam Malkin to her customers). She's old—maybe in her mid-seventies to early eighties—but there's just something so _vibrant_ about her that she's fun to spend time with, especially after the events just a few years ago. She can remember other things and assures me that, with time, I will too.

I'm sentimental; you probably know that by now, though. Or at least you've guessed. Selling sweets on the Hogwarts Express reminds me of my time there. It wasn't often pleasant, starting about the start of second year with that Chamber of Secrets disaster and lasting for almost exactly five years. Some of the older kids vaguely remember it, but the younger ones are gloriously innocent of all the suffering some of us endured during those years. I envy them for it, sometimes, but I am often simply and pleasantly reminded of my first two years at the school.

I'm not addicted to my work, I swear. I have a flat—my own, by a stroke of pure luck. I go out with the girls when I can, and those evenings are always filled with plenty of joyful laughter.

If you care to listen, I'll tell you a story. It's the story of the young witch pushing the sweets trolley and struggling to make ends meet. It's the story of how her delicately-balanced life comes crashing down on her head, with just one letter. And it's the story of how she survives it all.

* * *

_I'd like a new name for this story—"Something to Try" is what it was originally saved as on my computer. It was just that, something to try, an exercise in writing. It's taking a bit more shape than that and is heading in a different direction as I get to know the trolley witch. Any suggestions? Review and let me know. If I pick yours, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter :)_


	3. Chapter 3

No one wants to hear about when things are going smoothly. It's simply not interesting. I'll be kind and spare you the details. Suffice it to say that, with my long list of employments, I rarely had time for anything more than work (including the friends who visited me there) and sleep. My life was going well.

On April 14, 2002, I received a letter. It wasn't uncommon; letters were the way I kept in touch with friends who didn't frequent the Leaky Cauldron. This letter, though, was from St. Mungo's—or rather, from Tom, sent by the Healers.

**_I don't believe I'll be able to run the Leaky Cauldron from my bed here. Do you think you could manage it for me while I'm away?_****_  
_**

I instantly scrawled back:

_Yes, let me know if you need anything.__  
_

I took time off from Madam Malkin's and Florean Fortescue's to run the Leaky Cauldron full-time for a few days. Time passed in a blur of managing the successful tavern and worrying about Tom. He wasn't young by anyone's standards; in fact, he was probably a good bit older than Averill.

On April 17, Tom was demanding my presence at St. Mungo's. Upon my arrival, the Healers told me he was simply inconsolable.

He said hello, and asked how business was going at the Leaky Cauldron. As I told him about it, he seemed happy. According to the Healers, it was the only time during his entire stay that he wasn't angry or impatient.

When I had told him everything important I could think of and quite a few things of minimal to no importance, he handed me an envelope, saying, "Everything in it is yours, kid. Take care of it."

I nodded, and promised I would.

I didn't want him giving things to me, because that meant he had given up hope. He had no one else to call, as he had never been close to his own family. He had no wife or children, and his nieces and nephews barely knew him. So he gave me that old manila envelope—the most precious thing he owned—the day before he died.

* * *

_I've developed a few rules for this story:_

_1) Everything contained in a chapter has to fit on one page in Pages (Apple's equivalent of Microsoft Word)_

_2) When people within the story write something, I have to use a different font, which seriously screws with my estimation of length. If you're interested, Tom's note is written in **PhontPhreak's**** Handwriting** and the trolley witch's is **KG Eyes Wide Open**. Both can be downloaded from Dafont (add: dot com) if you even care._

_3) I don't update until I get a review. I like this story, but I'll stop writing it to work on some of my other projects if no one cares to read it. I'm not begging for attention, and I won't care if you don't review. I'd just rather not waste my time with a story no one wants to read, if you don't mind._

_4) From time to time, I'll give you chances to get a preview of the next chapter.__ This is only good for FF members, so if you don't sign in, you better at least give me your username so I can PM it to you._ Since the fourth chapter is already prewritten, I'll give this a try. Review with the name of the trolley witch and I'll send you the whole thing. (HINT: She was in the same year as Harry and a member of the DA.)

_I'm SO SO SORRY for the long author's note, but I felt like you might want to know how this story works._


	4. Chapter 4

It took me nearly two days to work up the courage to open that envelope. When I finally did, I discovered that it contained another thick envelope, two sheets of parchment, and a key.

The first parchment was a letter to me.

**_Hannah,_**

**_Please don't hate me for this, but I just don't have it in me to give it—any of it—to anyone else. You're not in my will, honey, because my family expects to receive everything I own. They practically wrote the bloody will. But I don't own the contents of this envelope any more; I've already signed them all over to you, to do with as you please. I do hope you'll keep them, as it would break my heart to see those bastards ruin everything I hold dear. I know you'll take at least as much care of this as I did, and possibly even more. Thank you, Hannah, for everything you've done for me these past three years._**

**_With Love,_**

**_Tom_**

It broke my heart: Tom was giving me his most prized possessions, to keep them away from his family. The second parchment had a Gringotts letterhead emblazoned across its top and was addressed to Tom.

**_We are writing to confirm the transfer of your Gringotts account number 9274, with all contained funds and treasures, to a Miss Hannah Abbott. As per your wishes, you may inform her of the transfer yourself. She will need her wand and your key to access the account, and may transfer them to her own—or transfer her old account to this new one—as she sees fit._**

**_Thank you for your business._**

It was closed with several important-looking signatures, none of which I could read. The key in the bottom of the envelope was old, stamped with 9274—Tom's Gringotts account. He gave me his Gringotts account, with "all contained funds and treasures." His family was guaranteed to hate me for this.

The enclosed envelope scared me the most. What was so precious that Tom would feel the need to seal it again? With shaking hands, I opened it to reveal a deed: the deed to the Leaky Cauldron, in my name. Behind it were the papers proving that Tom had legally signed the entire business over to me. Folded into these papers was a large brass key—the key to the owner's suite, the only one I didn't already have.

I was honored. I was terrified.

For the first time in my life, there was nothing I needed more than a day off. And there was no time less convenient to take it.

* * *

_So, this chapter's challenge: How will Tom's family react? (HINT: "They'll be furious" won't cut it. Give me some specifics.)_


	5. Chapter 5

The funeral was the first time I met Tom's extended family. His niece Sylvie was the first to approach me and introduce herself. "Hannah, Uncle Tom told us so much about you each time we saw him. He was truly impressed by you. I understand you've worked at the Leaky Cauldron for three years now? I hope you're keeping it pristine for us even now that Uncle Tom isn't there; I'm sure my brother Rupert will make it worth your while."

I knew that this confrontation was coming, and I remembered to keep my temper in check. "Actually, Rupert doesn't owe me anything, and neither do you," I informed her casually.

"Have you quit?" she asked, alarmed. "Oh, I don't know how we'll manage to run the tavern without an experienced hand like yourself."

I took a deep breath before answering her. "I haven't quit, and I can promise you the Leaky Cauldron will be perfectly fine."

"It's quite a disgusting name, don't you think?" Sylvie rambled. "I was thinking we might have to change it, since I can't bear to own a place that implies filth. Perhaps we could call it the Enchanted Garden?"

"The name will not be changing," I said flatly.

She looked as if she had been slapped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I told her quietly.

"Miss Abbott, if you don't stop your nonsense this minute, you will be fired from the tavern," she threatened.

"What a shame that you don't have that authority," I retorted.

"Rupert does."

"Ah. Where did he get it?"

"He inherited it. Everything Uncle Tom owned was passed down to his family. As we agreed last night, Rupert will run the tavern and split the profits between the eight cousins," Sylvie bragged.

"I'm sorry, Sylvie, but Tom no longer owned the tavern when he died."

"What did he do with it, then?" she challenged.

I winced. "The day before he died, he signed it over to me."

* * *

_Last chapter, I asked you how the family would react to the news. Ready for the answer? Starting in chapter eight there will be blackmail, threats, vandalism, and other methods of under-the-table coercion._

_This chapter's question: I'm having an awful time naming a few people (witches and wizards). Want to suggest a name or two? If at any point I use your suggestion (now or in the future), I'll give you a preview of the next chapter to be posted at that time. Thanks!_


	6. Chapter 6

Sylvie left me alone the rest of the night. I met Rupert, who talked about all the changes he planned to make to the Leaky Cauldron—including a name change, though certainly _not_ the Enchanted Garden as his sister wanted to call it—and I kept my mouth shut about his lack of authority. I would talk to them all about it later tonight, when all the guests had left.

Finally, after the last visitor bid goodbye, I invited Tom's family to join me for a round of drinks on me at the Leaky Cauldron. They happily assented, and not five minutes later I was leading them all into my tavern. "Vieira!" I called to the bartender. "Their drinks are on me; serve them whatever they'd like up in private suite three. I'll take care of things down here until you're done."

She nodded smartly and escorted the family upstairs. When she came down to reclaim her place at the bar, her eyes were full of tears. "Hannah, they're discussing how to change the Leaky Cauldron," she blurted. "You're not going to let them, are you?"

I reassured her that no, the Leaky Cauldron would not be changed, while explaining that they were under the impression that they had inherited the building from Tom. Anything they said could be disregarded.

I slipped a few items into my pocket before joining them in the suite. "We have some business to discuss," I said as I entered.

Rupert smirked at me. "Actually, _we_ have some business to discuss, which doesn't involve you. Uncle Tom may have let you run the place recently, but that will be changing now that the rest of us are here."

"How so?" I asked innocently.

"You see," he explained as if talking to a dim-witted child, "Bartenders are employees who have no business telling their employers what to do. Sylvie claims you tried to tell her that the God-awful name of this place wouldn't be changed, and I'm saying you've crossed the line, Abbott."

"Actually," I retorted, "None of _you_ have any business telling _me_ how to run my tavern."

* * *

_Just a warning: I'm currently on vacation. My internet access is sporadic at best. I'll write while I'm here, and post if I can. If not, I'll have prewritten chapters to post when I get home in about ten days._

_This chapter's question: Is it acceptable for Hannah to sell Muggle liquors in the Leaky Cauldron, or do I need to invent some specific to the Wizarding world? Because there's absolutely no way that the only alcoholic drink she serves is firewhisky—it would be like serving nothing but beer. Ugh. Your opinion please?_


	7. Chapter 7

My statement was met with complete silence for nearly a minute until Rupert collected himself enough to respond. "Hannah, you're fired," he finally said.

"From what?" I provoked.

"From the Leaky Cauldron!" Sylvie shrieked. "I told you that if you didn't stop your little games, Rupert would fire you. You should have listened to me."

What did it take to get through to these people? "Would you like to leave my tavern now or in the morning?" My voice was sickeningly sweet, I thought. Couldn't they tell?

"You don't have a tavern to kick us out of!" another cousin shouted. "Rupert owns it all!"

"Would you like to see the deed?" I asked. "It has my name on it, you know. And if _that_ isn't enough proof, I'll call Tom's lawyer to come over and explain it to you." I had barely finished speaking when I pulled the deed from my pocket. "Take a look," I offered them. "It's protected with Mr. Durand's finest charms, so don't even think about destroying it."

Once they had all passed the deed around and it was safely back in my possession, I gave them an ultimatum. "You can choose: either leave now, or pay for a room for the night. I don't run a charity house for people that spend their time trying to control my tavern."

Grumbling, each of them stood up and walked out. I followed them down the stairs to the door, smiling the whole way. When I said goodbye, they didn't respond. I was starting to see why Tom made sure they couldn't get their greedy hands on this place.

Vieira and I had a celebratory mug of coffee with Bailey's, a Muggle liqueur we'd grown quite fond of. At the moment, she was my only employee; I would need to hire at least two more if I didn't want both of us to have to work twenty-four hours a day.

"I'm not going to really change this place," I told her as we sipped our coffees. "I would like to spruce it up a bit, though. We need to update a few things, or it will just be too sad for me to be here. Would you like to help?"

Of course she agreed, and we stayed up chatting long into the night, discussing what kinds of subtle renovations we could give the charming old tavern.

* * *

_Eek! We're catching up on what I've prewritten, so I need to get working._

_This chapter's question: the title. I'm not sure I like calling it "Something to Try" and I'd like to rename it. The only problem is that I can't seem to think of any good enough titles. So your challenge is to suggest a name for this little story. If I choose yours, you'll get a preview of chapter eight._

_Also, there are some of you whom I owe a preview. You know who you are. That will be chapter eight, as well. If you win **another** preview with this challenge, I'll send you eight and nine._


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, I was exhausted. There were so many things I had to do, and I hoped Vieira would remember more of them. Sure enough, she was already downstairs brewing me a fresh coffee. "I have a list of everything we talked about last night, if it's not too presumptuous of me," she said.

"Vieira, how do you always know exactly what I need?" I asked gratefully, taking both the coffee and the list. Glancing at it, I saw a mention of more employees—that had to be my first priority, before the two of us worked ourselves to the bone.

Before even finishing my coffee, I made a sign to hang in the front window. _Help wanted_. I really had no idea how to hire people; Tom had always taken care of that.

Really, I would be stranded if it wasn't for my queen—and only—bartender. Vieira hesitated for a minute before saying, "If you'd like, I can write up something for the _Daily Prophet_, to advertise the job openings more publicly. It's how I got this job the last time Tom was hiring."

"Vieira, I think you're in charge of this hiring business, if you wouldn't mind. I have no bloody clue what I'm doing with any of it."

"I'll get it all ready—applications, owls, everything—but you have to do the final interviews, Hannah."

"I owe you big time. Thank you," I gushed.

I hung my sign in the window and walked outside to check how it looked. My jaw dropped at what had been done to my building. I would recognize George's products anywhere, and I was certain this paint was his. Flashing several different colors across the old bricks was the message, "Watch your back, thief."

The only thing that saved Tom's wicked family from my temper was the knowledge that George _always_ had a backup plan for things like this—at his father's urging—so that vandalism on important buildings could be removed quickly without drawing the attention of Muggles.

Unfortunately, wizards and witches had already started to trickle into the Leaky Cauldron. Unable to leave myself, I sent Vieira to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to fetch whatever information and materials I would need. I had to get rid of the threat emblazoned on the front of my tavern.

* * *

_And the fight for the Leaky Cauldron begins!_

_Last chapter's contest is still active—rename this story and get a preview of the next chapter to be published._

_I'd also like to know what you think about this story, whether positive or critical. What do you like? What_ _don't you like?__ Questions will all be answered, but only vaguely if the complete answer would give away too many plot elements._


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't long before Vieira returned, with George Weasley in tow. "Have a problem with our paints, Hannah?" he asked with a smile.

"As a matter of fact, I do," I told him icily. "Why don't you go look at the front of my tavern and see what you can do about fixing it."

Suddenly all business, he went outside to take a look. Fifteen minutes passed, and he still hadn't returned inside. I left Vieira to tend to everyone in the building and went out front to join him. He was staring at the wall where the message used to be, perplexed. "I'd like to know why that particular thought was emblazoned across the Leaky Cauldron."

"Tom's family is a bunch of bloody idiots. He signed the tavern over to me before he died, and they're mad. I think they're hoping to scare me away from it, but there's no chance of that ever happening."

He nodded. "Averill has missed you lately. I saw her on the way over. I was supposed to tell you that when I got here, but I thought it could wait until your tavern was taken care of."

"On your way back to your store, would you mind inviting her over to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink tonight? After she closes her shop for the night, of course. I just can't leave Vieira with all this work to go visiting."

He agreed to do that for me. "What about pushing the sweets trolley? Are you done with that as well?"

I shook my head slowly. "I'm hiring more employees. I'll give them that shift on the day I'll be on the Hogwarts Express. Vieira can be in charge for one day; I trust her."

"What if Tom's family knows you're gone?"

I frowned at him. "It doesn't matter; the tavern is mine, and I have no intention of that changing any time soon."

As he left for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, George made one final comment. "Let me know if you're ever done with the tavern. I know it's a long shot, but I'd be more than happy to buy it from you, if it's ever for sale."

"I'll let you know," I promised, knowing that I would never sell this tavern unless I absolutely had to. George knew it too, and he waved before I went back inside. There would be no hard feelings if I never even thought about it.

* * *

_So, what do you think? The first writing (that isn't required for a class) that I've done since starting college. Updates will be slower now, but they WILL happen. Please be patient, because course work comes first._

_Want a preview of chapter ten? Here's your question: Will Tom's family make the next move, or will Hannah beat them to it? You have to CHOOSE ONE. No saying "I could see it going either way." The chapter is already written, so anyone who gets it right gets the preview._


	10. Chapter 10

The stress was getting to me. Most nights, I only got a few precious hours of sleep. Vieira managed the Leaky Cauldron while I rested, but she needed time to herself, too.

We had gotten in several hundred applications; there were too many, and Vieira eventually asked for help in sorting them out. Since _I _was the one actually hiring, it only seemed fair—to both of us—that I share this enormous workload.

Then there was the constant threat that Tom's family would act on their jealousies again. Like I needed _that_ in addition to everything else going on.

And all of this was because Tom was dead. I didn't let my sorrow show while I was working. Rarely, when there was no one in the pub downstairs, I would excuse myself to mourn him quietly. Vieira knew what I was doing, and understood that I needed the privacy. Neither of us ever mentioned it.

So on a bright Saturday morning, exactly a week after that first incident with Tom's family, I was not in the mood for interviewing potential employees. I thought I hadn't scheduled any for the next few days, until a young girl showed up and asked where she ought to wait for her interview. It wasn't long before at least fifty people were crammed into the tavern, waiting for their own interviews. This was also not how I had scheduled it; I had planned for a few candidates to arrive at a time, to ensure short wait times.

I stood on the bar and shot sparks from my wand in order to get their attention. "Who can tell me how and why the date of your interview was changed to right now?" I demanded.

"We got a letter!" someone shouted back.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "What was in the letter?" I asked patiently. If this was what I thought it was…

A woman in the front had brought it with her, and wordlessly handed it to me to read.

_To Applicants for the position of Bartender at the Leaky Cauldron:_

_Thank you for your interest in this position. Because of management miscommunications, we will be unable to complete your interview at the specified time. If you are still interested—and we sincerely hope you are—your new interview time will be on Saturday, 27 April, 2002, at promptly 8:30am. We apologize for any confusion and inconvenience this may have caused you._

_Sincerely,  
Rupert Coss  
New Management of the Leaky Cauldron_

The first thing that struck me was how similar Rupert's handwriting was to Tom's. The second? He was trying to steal the Leaky Cauldron in the most under-handed way possible: by stealing my employees. He would most certainly pay for this.


	11. Chapter 11

Now, thanks to Rupert, I had a tavern full of people thinking they were here to be interviewed. This was exactly what I didn't need. "Vieira, would you please run to George's?" I shout to my assistant. "Explain the situation and ask if he can spare an employee for a few hours today instead of next week. I might as well get this over with, since they're all here."

She nodded once before heading out the back door. "The rest of you," I said, turning to the applicants, "deserve to know that Rupert Coss has _nothing_ to do with the running of this tavern. It was given to me by Tom before he died, and his nephew is jealous."

This got them angry. "So you're saying we're here for no reason?" one man shouted.

"No," I said, trying to remain calm. "I'm saying I hadn't planned to start interviews yet today. Because you're all here, I will—on the condition that it doesn't mean my bartender will be working alone." I didn't like dealing with this crowd one bit.

It had been nearly a minute, and Vieira wasn't back yet. I had to think of something to do with them.

"I'm going to start sorting you into a few groups so that I can give you some idea of how long you'll be here. I will also give you the option of waiting somewhere else and coming back here at a scheduled time. If you have somewhere important to be _following_ this interview, I'll do my best to get to you as soon as I possibly can." Where was Vieira? I desperately needed her to hurry back.

And I needed to start sorting my angry interviewees. "If you _need_ an earlier interview time, stand to my left. If you would _prefer _an earlier time, you can stand along the wall over here. If you're okay with a later time—we'll schedule exactly when that may be, so you don't have to stick around here—please stand over here, but be sure not to block the door." As was just my luck, nearly the entire group migrated to the group indicating they _needed_ an early interview time. Quite a few preferred it, and only a few were willing to wait very long at all.

To my immense relief, my door was thrown open to reveal a furious George, followed by Vieira and another girl I didn't know. "Hannah!" he called across the room as he strode to the bar. "Hey. I figured you might want more than one extra pair of hands today, and Saf has been begging me for more time to work. She'll help Vieira, and I'll help you out with the interviews. Don't worry, I won't conduct them, I'll help sort everything out, I'll—"

"George!" I interrupted. "You want to help? Find out who legitimately needs to be taken care of quickly, and send them up, two at a time, to my office. Then come up with a schedule for the rest of them," I said before I stomped up the steps to my office at the top of the old wooden hill.

* * *

_This is for FredNeverDied, who made me realize this story has been on hiatus so long that it could have been perceived as abandoned. So sorry for that, to anyone who is still reading! A review would make my day, and might even convince me to post one more chapter tonight... )_


	12. Chapter 12

It had been less than fifteen minutes when I heard my first interviewees walking up the stairs, and I silently thanked George for being so efficient with the whole task. As the door opened, I looked up from my desk at the two men standing in my doorway. "If one of you could wait on the chair in the hall, please? It won't be more than a few minutes."

Silently, they did as I asked. Into my office walked my first candidate for a new bartender. "I'm Hannah Abbott, owner of the Leaky Cauldron.

He shook my hand. "Daniel Grein. Pleased to meet you, Miss Abbott."

"Please, sit down," I said, glancing at his resumé. "I see you've been a bartender at various taverns for three years; tell me about that."

"It's a great experience," he started with a smile. "I like—"

"Not about being a bartender," I interrupted. "I'd like to know why you've worked at seven different taverns in such a short space of time.

"I waste a lot of good alcohol," he said easily. "I like to experiment, and sometimes those experiments don't work too well." He laughed. "Actually, a lot of times they're damn disgusting. Anyway, I know this could be a reason not to hire me, seeing as it's the first thing you asked about, so I would like to propose a solution. If I waste your liquors, they come out of my paycheck. You might even get a few genius mixes out of it, if I do say so myself."

This guy seems like he might know something worthwhile, and we haven't changed the drink menu in nearly three years. "Thank you, Daniel. I'd like you to head downstairs and mix something for Vieira; it will be whatever she asks you to make. She'll be evaluating your mixing technique. I'll be in contact with your references and you'll hear from me within the week. Thank you."

"Thank you, Miss Abbott. I look forward to hearing from you."

If the rest my interviews went this well, I could be done before noon. If none of them went this well, at least my decision would be a hell of a lot easier.


End file.
